Napoleon's Sergeant
by Sergeant Tabor
Summary: Maurice Tabor, a former sergeant in Napoleon's Grand Army, is off to rescue his beloved Emperor. Will he succeed?
1. Chapter I

Setting-This story takes place in France in the early 1800's between Napoleon's Exile to Elba and his return to France

**Chapter I**

_I am Maurice Tabor, a former sergeant in Napoleon's Grand Army. I marched with Napoleon from the mountains of Italy, the wind swept lands of Egypt, the frozen fields of Russia, and I even fought his last battle at Leipzig. The Great Emperor is gone, in exile on Elba._

_He is the only true leader of France, this Louis XVIII is a weakling and will be overthrown when our beloved leader returns. It is this point I am writing to you. I hear you were a major supporter of Napoleon and you are orchestrating his return back to our beloved France. I wish to volunteer my…_

Maurice hid the letter as a Gendarme walked by. The big gorilla of a man, wearing the uniform of an army soldier, grunted at all he suspected of treason. The grunting was endless. Maurice loosened the strap of his pistol, hidden amongst the fabric of his winter coat, and just nodded to the big man then at his smaller companion standing guard at the entrance.

The second Gendarme looked like a weasel. Whereas the gorilla's unshaven face made him look stronger, an added psychological benefit, the patch of beard on the companion's face made look like a weasel. The weasel was sweeping the room with a nervous glance. His glance stopped on Maurice, and their eyes met.

A grunt, "What do you have there?" The look between Maurice and the weasel was not lost on the big man.

Maurice looked down at the inkwell and feather pen he had left out when the Gendarme walked in, "Sir, it is a dead raven." There was silence, the tension was overpowering, smothering. Maurice kept a calm demeanor, staring at his adversary in this mental chase game.

"No, it is a pen," the gorilla retorted. He risked a quick glance around the room, "And there are no others in this room."

"I swear to you sir, this is a dead raven," Maurice replied, stroking the black feather, "It came in here as I was drinking my wine and it crashed into my table. So therefore it is a dead raven."

The gorilla's fury escalated, "That is a pen!" he picked it up and began to scribble on the table, "There, see, no dead Raven."

This man isn't educated, Maurice observed, but what can you expect for up north. He feigned surprise, "It is a pen, wow, I don't know if I could have figured it out without you. Thank you."

Seeming to bask in this sudden recognition of his intelligence, the gorilla was disarmed. The weasel on the other hand, was a little smarter. Maurice looked at the smaller Gendarme with a grin, "How may I help you?"

"Show me the letter you wrote you treacherous swine," The weasel screamed, slamming his fist on the table.

Maurice looked around confusedly, "What letter?" there were now a few small chuckles, but they were silenced quickly when the weasel drew his pistol.

"You have a pen and unlike my gullible partner here, I will not believe a bullshit story. Where is it?" The barrel was pointing menacingly in Maurice's face. The finger on the trigger twitched, and the finger's owner's face was taut with anger. There was only one thing the Maurice could do at that moment…

…He handed the letter over, "Here you are, sorry to have caused so much trouble." The Gendarmes emotion was no longer anger, but shock, then disappointment. He lowered the pistol and took the paper from Maurice's outstretched hand. Both the weasel and gorilla looked frantically at the paper, then each other. The Former Sergeant had played his cards right, neither Gendarme knew how to read.

Flustered, the gorilla pointed to a scholarly looking man, "You, do you know how to read?" The scholar nodded and stood up meekly.

The Gendarme pointed their fingers at the paper. The scholar took it in his hands and looked at Maurice, who just smiled and nodded, "D-d-dear M-m-mother. It has been s-s-seven weeks since I have last written you. It is f-f-freezing up here but w-w-work is plentiful. I am s-s-sending money to you and f-f-father. B-b-best reg-g-gards," The scholar hesitated, looking at Maurice who was mouthing his name, "Maurice."

The Gendarme were staring at the paper, both looked as though they were waiting for more. It took them ten seconds to realize the scholar stopped. The weasel was the first to speak, "That's it? No mentions of Napoleon or of revolution?"

"No sir," The scholar lied. This letter was chock full of references to Napoleon and this mans love for him. The scholar had no love for Napoleon, but neither did he have love for the old kingdom. Napoleon may have made war in his vineyard, but at least he didn't have some noble taxing his crop. He had no desire to see a man killed today, not for what he believed.

The weasel shot a smoldering look at Maurice, "You're safe today Bonapartist, but mark my words, Napoleon will never come back."

Maurice just nodded to the two Gendarmes and asked, "Would you men care for some wine? This vintage is quite good," looking about Maurice found the red-haired barmaid, "Mademoiselle, could you please bring two more glasses for my compatriots here?"

The barmaid fluttered off to go grab the cups, Maurice followed her every move until she disappeared into the back room. He looked back at the Gendarmes, "Would you like some cheese also, it's very good. Aged to perfection," Maurice proceeded to cut off a piece and offered it to the gorilla and then the weasel. Neither of them took it, "No? More for me," and he proceeded to eat it himself.

The two Gendarmes were confused and disarmed by this man's strange behavior. They didn't say a word as they took their leave. Horses could be heard outside. Some cursing was also heard before the steady beating of hooves slowly disappeared. The tension was finally broken and the chatter finally came back. As far as anyone else knew, this Maurice fellow was innocent so talk went back to the usual stuff; crops, relatives, stories, and women, especially the red-haired bar maid.

The scholar was still standing there, next to a traitor. Worse than that he helped this traitor escape, but there was something about this man. It was…intriguing to say the least. Maurice noticed the man still standing there, "Come and sit my friend," the scholar did so as Maurice patted the scholar's back, "That was a very noble thing you did. I owe you my life."

"Yes you do you Bonapartist," The scholar mumbled. This…Sergeant was no ordinary man. He was smart, clever, and charming. His personality was magnetic. This man was no mere soldier; he was a gentleman in disguise.

The barmaid came back with the glasses, maneuvering through the tavern filled with men gawking at her figure. While a woman in this remote place was uncommon, someone like her was rare. She just strode over to the table and set the glasses, the best she could find. She could only see two people at the table, "Monsieur, did you're friends not stay?"

Maurice gave a disarming smile, "They're still here. You, my buddy here, and myself. Take a seat darling," while he was talking, Maurice had stood up and pulled out the lady's chair.

Blushing a little, she took the seat. She looked at the charming gentleman with his easy smile and sparkling eyes. This man was different than the run of the mill farmers and storekeepers up in this area, he was actually a gentleman.

The three glasses were filled and Maurice raised his glass up, "A toast, to friendships young and old, may they never die," The barmaid and the scholar followed suit. The expensive wine filled them with warmth that neither the girl nor the scholar had experienced, they were both sure this man had something to hide. Maurice turned to the barmaid first, "What is your name darling, or am I going to have to call you angel?"

"Aimee," was all she said. Maurice did not believe women like this existed in this part of the country. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, but judging by the way she acted when he used simple manners Maurice guessed that this place was very crude and she had been nowhere near a metropolis.

I must rescue this girl, was all Maurice thought as he continued to smile, "Such a lovely name for such a lovely woman," Aimee giggled as Maurice turned his attention to his scholar friend, "And what name should we call you?"

The scholar looked at Maurice behind his wine glass, "Stefano, just Stefano," Maurice's charm had just made the Italian more suspicious. This country girl may fall easily, but not Stefano.

"Ahh, a man from Italy, just a stone's throw away from Corsica, home of Napoleon," Maurice laughed, drinking his wine. He knew the Italian was suspicious of him, but he had a few days to break down the suspicion. He obviously didn't hate Napoleon, he didn't give Maurice up.

Maurice was nervous when the Gendarme chose someone to read the letter. He had figured that they would ask him to translate the letter, apparently they weren't that stupid. He admitted to himself though that being arrested wasn't that bad…they still had to take him to Paris, plenty of time to escape.

Stefano lowered his glass, "So, Sergeant Tabor. What brings you this close to the border?"

Maurice's blue eyes scanned the man, the faux joviality still in them. He picked up his glass, "To work my good man, to work," A friendly slap on the shoulder and a hearty laugh, "Drink up," he poured Stefano another glass.

"Hey, you, barmaid," A rather revolting old man called to Aimee, slapping ten five-Franc coins on the table, "Come here," Aimee walked over, her expression had turned for one of joy to disgust. She looked no older than nineteen and probably never experienced the touch of a man, although Maurice could not be sure.

"You wanted something?" Aimee asked, a fake smile on her face and a sickly sweetness in her tone. Behind the bar, as Maurice could see, the Tavern owner took no notice of these events.

"Yeah, how about you and me have a go, fifty Francs," the grungy man stated with a crooked, disgusting smile.

Aimee stared at the money, "No," she stated and turned to walk away. The dirty man grabbed her arm, Maurice jumped out of his chair.

"Alright, sixty, but no more than that," The man was vicious and determined. She tried to pull away once more and his grip tightened. She relaxed a look of defeat on her face. The dirty man grinned in triumph.

Maurice could see the distress in the young girl's eyes. He walked up behind her and lightly placed his right hand on her arm, "Here, Mademoiselle, is 600 hundred Francs for you to walk away," Maurice glared at the man still holding Aimee as he handed her a five-hundred and one-hundred Franc notes, "She would like you to let go Monsieur."

The dirty man stood up and found a pistol barrel pointed right at his forehead, "Let her go Monsieur or I will be forced to shoot."

The dirty man chuckled, surely this boy…Click. The man took another look into Maurice's eyes as the thumb left the hammer. He saw nothing but contempt and rage. A gulp and he sat back down, letting her go.

Aimee looked at her savior as he led her back to his table, the pistol still in his hand. Maurice was a striking figure in his thirties, having volunteered for Napoleon's Grand Army in 1796 at the age of fourteen. He's features were weathered, but held a noble quality, definitely a handsome quality. Intelligence and cunning were apparent in his blue eyes. His brown hair hung neat and trimmed. She grinned, "Thank you Monsieur."

Maurice's face returned to a smile, "Call me Maurice darling," He pulled out her chair once more. After she sat down he took a seat, placing the pistol on the table as if it were a dare to the next man who would solicit this woman for sex.

He took out his paper, picked up the quill with his left hand, and finished the letter…

_…services to the effort of rescuing our Emperor. You will find me at the Lone Rose Café in Paris._

_Your Servant,_

_Sergeant Maurice Tabor_


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

Maurice sat alone in his room at the inn, deep in thought. Should he just go after Napoleon on his own? Maurice was already very close to the Italian border, all it would take is to cross it, head to Tuscany, and find a way across the Mediterranean, and get him out.

He stood up and began to pace, "No, that will never work!" he yelled, throwing his pillow against the wall. But why wouldn't it? Maurice questioned himself, sitting down again. It is quite plausible after all, Napoleon did have personal guards on Elba, surely enough to gun down a few Tuscan and Sardinian Carabinieri and the Gendarme foolish enough to follow this lone Sergeant.

He smiled like a mad fool, yes it would work. He didn't need this Count's help; he could do this whole damn thing himself. He was about to laugh a mad laugh when he stopped himself. He had already written the letter and he wasn't sure how much this new monarchy knew about him. Were the two that came to the tavern the advanced guard?

"No," he reasoned, "I was just a lowly sergeant," but his mind would not stop. Maybe he should have eliminated the two Gendarmes when he had the chance. Again, his thoughts caught up. That would not be wise both as they probably had to report to the local office and if they didn't show up they would send more and start massacring citizens. Maurice had done the right thing…for the moment. Sooner or later he knew he would have to fight.

The fighting itself did not frighten Maurice. He knew how to wield a weapon and was heavily armed, but he was afraid of failure, the failure if he did lose a fight, the failed attempt of rescuing Napoleon. He slammed his fists against the wall of the old inn, he must not fail.

Standing in the center of the room he began to breath slowly, releasing his tension, focusing. He had come up North to hide out after an incident in Aubagne with one of the Royalist bastards. There had been a scuffle, then chairs flew, and then the Gendarme arrived but not before the Royalist had taken a bullet from Maurice's pistol.

Fleeing soon after, Maurice stopped near the border with Italy, convinced he'd gone far enough. He stopped at this little inn/tavern to rest his horse and himself. As soon as he got in the tavern he ordered the best wine he could find and thought.

It was after his second glass he remembered a name, a Count Hamilton living near Paris. Maurice then proceeded to write.

"What if this man isn't who I think he is? What if he is a royalist? What if I'm found out?" Maurice stood there for a few seconds, then laughed, "That's why I had him meet me in the Lone Rose," The Lone Rose was a small café in Paris, famous for its wine selection, but more so for its Bonapartism. It was rumored Napoleon spent time early in his career in the Lone Rose and because of this the Café was also known as "Napoleon's Rose". It was a favorite haunt of Maurice.

Relaxing, Maurice's thoughts drifted to things other than his current mission. The girl, Aimee, was the first one to come to mind. An unconscious grin grew on his face. Such a beautiful woman in such a desolate place, she probably got offers like that every day. She deserved better than this backwoods cesspool.

The last time he saw a woman that remotely close to beautiful was at a ball, but that was many, many years ago. No, he hadn't seen a woman quite like Aimee in a long time. There was something striking about that red hair, those beautiful eyes, and the face in general. He let out a sigh, almost drowning out the soft knocking on the door.

"Yes?" Maurice asked the person on the other side, his left hand hover just above his pistol. The steps he took could not be heard. Like a cat stalking its prey, he crept upon the door. It probably wasn't Gendarme, they would have banged the door and he would already be in a running gun battle. Maybe Stefano, he didn't seem that strong so it might be him.

"Monsieur Tabor, it's me, Aimee," Came that calming voice from the other side of the door. The left hand relaxed as the right one rose to open the door. He didn't realize his face had an expression of relief on it, but he was acutely aware of the grin.

"Hello, Mademoiselle. What can I do for you?" He asked, stepping back. She was very exquisite this evening. Slapping himself internally, he reminded himself he was a gentleman.

Against her logic, Aimee stepped into the room. Like the rest of the rooms in the dirty little inn, it was cramped, "I just came to thank you."

"For what?" Maurice asked, regretting and cheering the girl for entering his room. This was…well, uncomfortable. Hopefully she didn't believe that the 600 francs was payment for a…how did that man put it? Go. Maurice was not like that, although he fought as a soldier, he had the bearing of an officer and a sense of honor to match.

She took a seat on his bed, "For rescuing me today. That man, he tried, they all try," she seemed to grow distant.

She was nursing her right arm, "Let me take a look at that," Maurice offered, kneeling in front of her. Reluctantly, she showed her wound. It was a purple bruise, with a small scratch. The fiend had injured her, the wound was small though. The physical signs would disappear, but the mental scars would be harder to get rid of.

"Does this happen often?" The older man asked, a caring tone in his voice. He put a cool cloth on her wound with an exaggerated tenderness.

She nodded, "Yes, many men call me pretty and beg. Usually they give up, but a few do try to force their way. Some of them have succeeded," She burst into tears, grabbing the man in front of him.

Maurice was shocked, but he hugged her, "Hush angel, it's ok. No one will hurt you any more," Her tears soaked his shirt. Patting her back, rocking her back and forth, he calmed her to a silent sob. He looked her into her eyes, those beautiful eyes, "Wait here."

She withdrew into herself again, just watching Maurice dig in his bag. This man was different…or was he. He had charm and he was generous, but did all he want was…her body? She shuddered to think about it. No, she thought defiantly, he's different, he's caring. He turned and was holding a box wrapped in cloth. He knelt beside her, "What I have here is a gift from Napoleon to Josephine, or at least was supposed to be. See, when they divorced, Napoleon was heart broken. True they stay on good terms but he was still saddened by the loss. He gave this to me when I was on his personal guard," He unwrapped the box. It was beautiful with gold inlay and the Bonaparte crest in the center. Opening it revealed an Ivory handled, pistol and the accessories to it, "It is now yours. It will protect you," He placed the box on her lap, stood up, and walked to the door.

"Don't go," Aimee shouted abruptly, "Please," She continued in a much more subdued tone, "I don't like being alone," She began to cry once more.

Maurice rushed back to her, "I'm here, you won't be alone," His eyes looked into hers, "Come with me, tonight is such a beautiful night. I don't want you to get the impression that my only interest in you is your physical nature, but your inner person as well," He stood up again, offering her his hand, "Come, don't be afraid, I'll keep you safe."

Placing the box aside, she stood up and took his hand, "I know…"


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

Maurice was saddling his horse and tying down his bags and guns. Aimee and Stefano looked on, one upset, the other was disappointed. Maurice jumped on the horse in one swift motion. Aimee walked up to him, "Will you return?"

It had been a two night stay at the little inn. Maurice had felt a connection between himself and the girl, but he had not acted upon it, knowing he had to leave for Paris eventually. As for the Italian, he was a good man to talk and play chess against. A good compatriot, but he did not get to close to him either.

The big gray turned to face the stable door, "I will return when my business in Paris is finished. So long my friends," the big horse carried the Sergeant out the door into the frigid cold. The barmaid and Italian just stared on.

Maurice had no intention of heading back to the inn. Maybe after he rescued Napoleon and his forces marched up here, but no, he could not return. He had liked the girl, which was why he hadn't acted why he had stayed the complete gentleman. He knew he was going to leave her…abandon her. A pain shot through him…was it guilt? He could not be sure.

Did they suspect his lie? Maurice was sure Stefano did, the Italian was very perceptive. Aimee, on the other hand, was clever, but very trusting. The girl knew though, he knew she did. Those eyes, her tears, they ripped at his heart…she knew.

"Must keep riding, must rescue Napoleon," he told himself, shaking his head. This did not force out the thoughts though, no matter how hard he tried.

Twenty kilometers out the rider stopped and found a small grove of trees of the side of the main road to set up camp. It wasn't much, a small fire and some dried beef for dinner. The bitter cold swirled around him, his nose felt as though it was going to fall off. He broke off a small piece of a baguette and washed it down with wine.

Still his mind was turning even when his body was ready to shut down. What was she doing right now? He glanced at his watch in the dim light, "Ten," he mumbled. She should be asleep…should be. Aimee worked the days, but she also admitted to working nights for extra tips. Before he left, he gave Aimee one-thousand francs to give her a reason not to work nights. He gave Stefano one-thousand to keep a watch on the girl.

Rolling out his bedroll, Maurice buried himself deep in the wool blankets. The winter air still found its way in and he shivered. This damned cold; it was sinking into his bones. Warm thoughts crept into his mind, the adventures in Egypt, the fireside at some mansion in Italy, the warm trickle of a good wine, and Aimee. His eyes snapped open at the thought of her.

"No," he told himself, "I must not think of her," he willed his thoughts away and again he was cold. The continual forcing of her memories began to physically hurt him. His head was throbbing.

"You know comrade, the old Maurice would never force such thoughts from his mind, he would embrace them," came a voice Maurice had not heard for over a year. Poking his head out, he saw a figure clad in the uniform of Napoleon's army. He quickly hid again, "And neither did my old friend hide like a child at the sight of an old friend," the soldier replied.

It was Jacques, a friend he met in Italy and fought with up until the invasion of Russia. That is where Jacques died, killed by Russia's most cunning general, General Winter. It was a little more than disturbing to have him here, "Jacques…I thought you were…"

"…Dead?" finished the apparition, laughing heartily, "I am, but I'm not that dead. You still remember me my good friend and I told you so long as you remembered me, I'd remember you," Jacques walked around the campfire, "and as for you and this mission of yours. It is a noble effort to rescue good old Napoleon, but is it worth it to abandon this woman?"

The initial shock began to wear off, "I've only known her for two days Jacques. I've known Napoleon for sixteen years."

"I never knew you swung that way, maybe it was a bad idea to be in your squad" Jacques laughed, receiving an angry look from his friend, "I kid my friend," he tossed a stick into the dying fire, "But if you're that dedicated, bring her along. I'm sure the Great Emperor would love to meet her," the ghost became serious, "Go to her…she needs you and more importantly you need her, deny it all you want you do need her. Be that damned gentleman you're so proud of and rescue her."

Jacques was right…of course he was, he always was, "I shall wait till…" a gun fired in the distance and a shrill cry could be heard. Both men looked in the direction of the noise; it was where Maurice had just come from. Maurice looked around to find Jacques gone, no doubt startled back to the netherworld be this commotion.

Mind racing, Maurice swung into the saddle of his big gray and sprinted it to the noise. A full moon and a starry sky guided his way, Saint Sebastian riding with him. The cool winter air made his determination that much harder, his heart steeled for battle.

The sounds of horses could be heard now, the whinnying and stomping. Maurice withdrew his blunderbuss filled with scatter shot. Lowering himself, he forced the horse to run faster.

He saw the fire in the distance. "Lock," Click, "And load," he mumbled. In the light he could see five men, three on horse back, two on the ground. The woman who screamed he could not find.

He was close now; he could smell the cheap whiskey. Shouldering his weapon, he urged his mount to make a leap over the shrubbery surrounding the small campsite.

The first rider had no time to react as he got a face full of shot. The rider, dead before he fell, hit the ground with a dull thud.

The others turned their heads when the flared musket was fired, but were to slow to react as Maurice had drawn two pistols from his saddle holsters. Before the other two riders could lift their musketoons, two lead balls slammed into their chests. The muskets fired wildly as the riders hit the ground.

Sliding off his horse and drawing his saber in one smooth motion, Maurice approached the stunned outlaws still left standing. They were backing up while shakily lifting their pistols level. With a quick motion, Maurice disarmed his opponents, even taking off a thumb.

Blood dripped from the blade, traveling down from hilt to the downward pointed tip. A small trail was forming of little drops of red. The fire reflected the cold anger and the hard determination of the man.

Maurice did not need the firelight to see the fear in the men, "Where's the girl?" he bellowed, slowly lifting his blade. They did not speak. The saber point made contact with the thumbless outlaw, "Where is she you despicable vermin? I have no inhibitions of running my blade through your throat."

"You lie," The thumbless man replied with a snarl. The saber penetrated the neck, making those his last words. A look of shock was frozen on the man's face as Maurice placed his boot against his chest and kicked the man off the saber.

The blade found its way to the other man's neck, "Your turn, tell me where she is, or go to hell with them," Maurice said, nodding to the dead body.

The single outlaw thumbed to a small thicket of trees, "Over there," he said in a meekly voice. He was sure this man in the gray winter coat was the devil.

Maurice motioned with his head, "Mount up and get the hell out of here," the outlaw did as he was told and rushed on his mount and darted off into the night, leaving his four dead comrades behind.

With bloody blade in hand, he ran to the thicket. A cold rage burned in his heart, no one would do such a thing, not even an outlaw.

"Now that you don't have your gentleman or his lackey to protect you," Said a masculine voice, the sound of a knife coming out of its sheath could be heard over the low, evil laugh.

A loud yell and a heroic leap caught the fiend by surprise. The knife blade was raised just in time to parry the saber blow. Both men leapt back into fighting positions.

"Hello hero," Mocked the older man, "I was just about to get my Francs worth out of this young woman." He took out a pistol, careful to hide it from his adversary, "She's a fighter, shot one of my friends."

"You will die before you lay another grubby hand on her, swine," The saber swung down again and the knife blocked it. Maurice had seen the man's hand reach for a pistol. He brought his boot up and kicked the object out of his hand.

The old man became less cocky and more defensive as Maurice took a single step backward. He laughed when Maurice lowered his blade, "That was a dumb move…friend."

The old man made a mad dash, knife held high. Maurice grinned, the moment he had waited for. Side stepping right, he swept his saber down and cut the man behind the knees, collapsing him instantly. He hit the ground with a thud.

Maurice loosened his own pistol, the one he had threatened the same man with the first night in the tavern. The old man looked desperately at the pistol barrel, then to Maurice's wrath filled eyes, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord," muttered the frightened man, trying to appeal to Maurice's religious sensibilities.

The same thumb cocked the same hammer of the same pistol that the old man had seen before, "God is busy, he sent me to deal with rapists like you," a flash in the dark, a thud of a bullet contacting flesh and bone, then silence. Maurice lowered the pistol and returned the pistol to its holster.

He walked over to Aimee and got on his knees. Before he could say anything, her arms wrapped around him, "I knew you would come back for me, I knew it," she said through her sobs of relief.

He returned the embrace, "I'm here angel, I'm here," he felt he grip at the winter coat and felt her dig into his chest, crying more and more letting all her anguish out. He lifted her head as her crying calmed, "Have you been to Paris?" a weak grin crossed his face as he couldn't believe he was asking this. She would be put in even more danger, but he felt like he must.

A smiled crossed her face despite the tears, "No I haven't."

"Would you like to go with me," Maurice asked.

An immediate, "Yes," came from the red-head as she threw her arms around his neck once more, a happy giggle in her voice.

The sounds of steps sounded behind Maurice, "Hey, are you taking Italians with you on this trip?"

Maurice turned to see a battered and bruised Stefano, "You look like hell my friend," A hearty laugh, "Of course I take Italians, but only if they're my friends," He helped Aimee up, "Let's get out of this dreary place, I have a nice spot not too far from here…"


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

It was a short ride back to the small thicket of trees. The fire was waning, nothing more than a small heap of smoldering embers. The bedroll was still there, and this was to be expected as the blankets were of very heavy wool. A bitter cold still swirled around him but he did not shiver, instead he saw the small frame of the girl shiver violently. His heart, usually cold and steeled, hurt for this young girl.

She did that to him, from the first day his heart was warm towards her. They dismounted; "Aimee, you look frozen," Maurice led the young girl to his bedroll, "Use this, the finest quality to be found in France."

"Thank you Maurice," She replied, getting in and hiding beneath the covers. It was cute, thought Maurice, shaking his head once more.

Stefano was sitting on the log Jacques was sitting on not thirty minutes before, "Thank you Maurice, if it were not for you, we would have surely died."

Taking a seat, Maurice lowered his voice, "Why did you two follow me? It's dangerous out here. Those rouges were bad, but if you met a really clever villain you probably would not be here," but those kind of men would have let a peasant girl and a grape farmer pass by, Maurice told himself. He looked back at the Italian, noticing the black eye and numerous cuts, "Aimee shot someone?"

Stefano made a painful grin, "Yes, shot him through the foot. It was great; she pulled out this pistol and BAMM!!" He slammed his hands together, causing everyone to jump, "He was crying and whimpering."

"Is there a storm?" Aimee muttered, confused in her drowsiness.

Maurice's voice went into his caretaker mode, "There isn't a storm darling, go back to sleep," a muttering from Aimee and she fell back asleep, nothing showing from the blankets except for a few tufts of red hair. He shook his head, "Let me see the wounds my friend, and try to keep it down."

"Here you go," the Italian's wounds were on his arms and his face. The arm wounds were probably defensive; the face ones were after that. None were immediately fatal, and there were few cuts on his face. Maurice pulled out two long pieces of clean cloth and a small flask.

There was a small trick Maurice learned from all his battles and that was alcohol could sometimes be the best medicine. Removing the cap, he handed Stefano the bottle, "Take a sip," it was whiskey, a good whiskey. Stefano took a hearty swig of the bottle and handed it back…that wasn't the trick, "Now this is going to hurt a little, so do your best to keep your pain cries to a minimum," he advised, putting a leather saddle strap in Stefano's mouth. Maurice tipped the bottle and poured some of the contents on the Italian's wounds…that was the trick.

He didn't quite understand the reason why Nicolas Appert, the man who showed him the trick, did it, something to do with rotting food and preservation, but Maurice couldn't argue with the results. Something in the alcohol caused fewer infections.

Stefano's eyes snapped open, the hiss of air rushing into his mouth did little to alleviate the pain and biting only transferred the pain to his mouth. The urge to scream was almost too much, but he kept remembering Maurice's words. After a while the pain subsided and through his tear misted eyes he could see the Sergeant finishing up his handy work. A tight tug meant that the bandages were finished, but Stefano laid there for a few more minutes.

"Find a comfortable place to lay down my friend, we leave at first light," Maurice was loading his pistols and rifles and the weapons he had taken from the dead men. It was fortunate that the horses didn't spook easily as it made the task of searching them for supplies easier. None of the weapons were particularly good.

Stefano had grabbed his bedrolls and laid it out, "Mind if I asked you something?" Maurice shook his head, "How do you know so much? I mean, no offense, but you were just a Sergeant."

A grin crossed Maurice's face, "Let's just say I had a life before the Army, and I never completely quit that life. Now get some sleep." Stefano took his advice and within thirty seconds he was snoring. The Sergeant just shook his head and placed the blunderbuss he was loading down. Yawning, Maurice sat on the ground and propped himself against the log and began to doze off…

…He was fourteen and leaning against a log. A small journal on his lap and Iron pen in his hand, he was writing to keep his mind sharp and alert. The pen strode smoothly on the paper, only stopping to dip into the ink well.

This was his second month on the campaign trail and already he had made a name for himself. Capturing an Austrian Standard and such had earned him some glory, but nothing was more glorious then just being a member of France's…no, _Napoleon's Grande Armee. _He stopped writing and eyed his new Corporal ranks earned for bravery in combat. He was now in charge of a small unit of men in his company.

"What are you doing Corporal Tabor?" Jacques asked. They had met within the first week of the Italian campaign and had become fast friends.

"I was just jotting down a few things Jacques," It was true, he was jotting down bits of poetry that he had come up with during the march. They were lyrical pieces of the things he had seen and that battles he had fought. The journal was filled with such things. He used it to fill in time between battles and to express himself in what ways he wanted be it poetry, prose, music, drawing, anything at all.

"Well, what is…" Jacques immediately stopped and stood up. Maurice was too focused on dredging up the right word to finish the line of poetry to really notice. He couldn't think of anything that would work just right.

"How about fire?" a voice said from behind the log.

Maurice's eyes snapped open and he wrote the word down. Of course, how could he be so stupid, "Thanks frie…" he looked at the man standing behind him and immediately jumped up, "General Napoleon, forgive me I had no idea…"

Napoleon raised his hands, "No need to apologize Corporal, I was just going around the camps for a walk. Care to join me?"

Maurice was shocked and could only reply with a nod. There was a hearty laugh from Napoleon who proceeded to continue his walk through the camps. Maurice quickly gathered his saber and musket and sprinted after Napoleon. I was just a short jog and Maurice recovered quickly. Napoleon's joviality had not lessened, "That was some interesting poetry Corporal, and very eloquent. It looks like you've had formal schooling."

"What makes you say that sir?" _Oh yeah Maurice, let's act like he's dumb. THWACK!!_ Maurice gave himself a mental slap and looked at Napoleon whose expression hadn't changed.

Napoleon looked over to the taller man, "You were writing the poem, line by line, in French, Italian, and German. Tell me, do you know any other languages?" The General wasn't interrogating him, he was just simply curious.

Maurice cleared his throat, "Yes sir, I also know English, Spanish, and a little Latin," the Corporal's eyes continually scanned the sides of the path, his musket at the ready.

Another laugh, "It's alright Corporal… I don't think I caught your name."

"I'm Corporal Maurice Tabor sir. I apologize, you are a prime target for an ambush, I'm doing my duty to protect you sir," but as he was ordered, Maurice did ease his tension. His stride was a little less cautious, but his senses were still heightened.

"Ahhh, Maurice, I knew a Maurice back at the academy…" Napolean was interrupted by the sounds of hooves pounding the ground.

The frantic rider looked Napoleon in the eye, "Sir…The Austrian…Army is advancing on our positions."

Napoleon's Joviality was gone, but his calmness did not disappear, "I was aware this would happen. Go and tell the other officers to prepare to move," The horseman saluted and hit the ground hard towards the camps. Napoleon turned to Maurice, "As for you, get your men ready for the attack Corporal. Being light infantry you'll get the first taste of battle," Napoleon's hand rested on Maurice's shoulder for a quick second, "We shall see each other again..."

…Maurice shot up. Daylight was cresting over the ridge of a distant mountain. Both Aimee and Stefano were sleeping. Maurice stood up and began stretching. He stepped over to the saddle bags and pulled out a breakfast of dried beef and bread. It was going to be an interesting trip, "We will see each other again Napoleon," Maurice said to the morning air, sure that Napoleon heard and understood him.


	5. Chapter V

Chapter V

**Chapter V**

Six horses and three riders went down the dirty path. The sun shone clear though the crystal sky only darkened by the light film of dust raised by the beating hooves. The man in the rear held a small handkerchief to his mouth and wore a straw farmer's hat. In the center rode a woman wearing a bonnet who wrapped herself in a wool blanket to fight of the biting cold. The leader wore a wide brimmed felt hat, reminiscent of a Cavalryman's hat, which sat low on his forehead and he wore a large overcoat.

Maurice's mind was tumbling with thoughts and he almost didn't notice the two men approaching his group. He glanced up slightly, his hand on the butt of the musketoon hanging from the saddle. The two men were not Gendarme, of that he was thankful. Nonetheless, these men did not look like seminary priests.

The first man rode up next to him, "Hello stranger, we couldn't help but notice that you have three beautiful horses you aren't using…"

"They're not for sale," Maurice grumbled, still hunched. His mind yelled that he should take care of these two right then and there…but there was a part of him that told him to wait. His hand never left the gun.

The rider was lean with a perfectly cared for mustache sitting above a row of bright and straight teeth. He laughed, "No, no, I have plenty of horses my friend. I am the mayor in this town and I'd like to speak with you about your mounts, I'm a horse aficionado myself."

Something in the man's voice eased the hand away from the musket. Maurice looked up, skepticism still in his eyes, "I believe we could use a little rest, we've been riding since sunrise and already it's midday. Lead the way my friend."

The 'Mayor' nodded with his open smile and began to move to a side path. Maurice followed, a little relieved at not having to stop in a public place. There was something in the man's demeanor that suggested something other than a desire to talk of horses, although he did have the look of a cavalryman. He looked taller than Maurice and much leaner but he had an air of strength about him.

With the others in tow, the came to gates of a well kept manor house. The second rider, presumably a bodyguard or servant, opened the gate. The Mayor rode towards the stables, "Come my friends, you may stable your horses here. Louis, help the poor girl into the house, she looks like the living dead," He turned his head to face Maurice, "I'll have my stable men help you with your mounts." And he quickly rode off to the stable, leaping gracefully off his horse.

Maurice and Stefano led their horses into the stable. Three men ran up to the horses and began to take off the equipment. The Mayor walked up to the riders, "Come my friends, we shall go inside. These men can take care of this," Maurice and Stefano dismounted and followed the taller man into his Manor House.

It was large, and more than likely very expensive, and the lands around it were sprawling. Stepping into the house, Maurice was no less impressed. A large central stair case and very well lit, this place could rival most other country manors. He almost didn't notice his host stop, "You sir," he was referring to Stefano, "May go and join your female friend for some coffee around the fire place, I need to talk to your veteran friend here."

Maurice tensed up as he watched the oblivious Italian walk away. He looked again at his host, who's face hadn't changed but his eyes did, "Come, we shall have some of the best wine in the country," he slapped his shoulder. There was nothing odd about the statement, except it was in Spanish. Maurice followed with an inquisitive look.

They were now inside a private salon; two leather chairs flanked a small table. The mayor flashed his perfect smile, "Sit, sit. My butler Gaston will bring us the wine. By the way, I'm Fernando Covas. A faithful servant of Napoleon, just like yourself."

Maurice was a little shocked. This man, who had never seen before, just opened this deadly secret to someone who he didn't know, "I'm Sergeant Maurice Tabor, also a servant of the Emperor."

"I knew it, I can always spot a veteran," Fernando laughed, his servant brought the bottle and two glass, "Thank you Gaston," He turned back to Maurice, "Why are you traveling at this time of year? It is cold," Looking at Maurice's shocked eyes, he laughed his joyful laugh, "It's alright Maurice, he is one of us. He was my servant during the time in the Guard Calvary. What branch were you part of?"

Maurice observed that his host was a little hyper, it must have been his Spanish blood, "I wish to go to Paris. I hear it's lovely this time of year. As for my service, I was a grenadier," He sipped the wine, and immediately discovered his host had not lied, "And what of you sir? Why did you invite us into your home?"

Fernando sat back and opened his arms wide, "Because, I wish to help fellow veterans in this time of crisis. Why did you accept?"

Maurice set his glass down, "I thought at first you were an outlaw or royalist, but something in you voice suggested other wise, and who am I to be rude? May I assume I'm not here to speak of horses?"

Fernando lowered his voice, "No, as all your horses are lame except the one you use. I'm guessing the ones your friends ride are fairly cheap, and the others you picked up from battle. And judging from you male companion you picked them up fighting to save them. Now, why would a loyal son of the true France go to such a rowdy city?"

Maurice loosened up a bit, "I wish to walk the streets, see the sights, like the Lone Rose Café," he let that sink in as he leaned further back, sipping once more at the wine glass. He saw Fernando's face change slightly, thinking no doubt. Looking at the room he saw books, maps, tools of science, this man was no idiot.

Fernando's face returned to its initial composure, "Why would a veteran of the Grand Army care to go there for? I assume it's not for the wine selection."

Maurice felt safe enough to talk, "I was once part of the Guard Grenadiers. I was even on Napoleon's personal Guard. I'm off to rescue our Emperor."

Fernando stared at him, then let out a long laugh, "You can't be serious my friend, Guard Grenadiers I understand, but his personal detail? Why aren't with him on his paradise island?" He continued to laugh until Maurice produced a letter, the broken seal was one rarely seen. It was Napoleon's personal seal not the more common Emperor seal. The paper looked aged, its corners rounded, but it still held an air of authority.

After glancing over it, Fernando looked up, "You're still crazy, he's in a fortress. But you have a plan, otherwise you wouldn't attempt it," he remarked.

Maurice poured more wine for himself, "Me? Hell no, I'm making it up as I go," he laughed, "Now, how did you end up in the Grand Army?"

The conversation that could have happened didn't, instead war stories were traded, comrades remembered, jokes retold. Maurice figured out that Fernando's father had come from Spain and his mother was French. Fernando was emboldened by the stories his father would tell of heroes such as Matamoros and this brought him a career in the military. He joined right after Italy and fought until the surrender at Leipzig, making Lieutenant. After their talk, Fernando led him to a lavishly prepared dining room and meal.

"Impressive, is it not? Of course, it's nothing like an Emperor's table but…" Fernando was making a grand show to his guest, treating him like a superior officer.

"Fernando, it is perfect," Maurice interrupted and Fernando's face lit up. He hadn't seen a feast like this in years, and he tried hard not to hide his excitement, expected Napoleon to make a grand entrance. His face remained calm, "Where will I be sitting?"

Fernando pointed to the chair on to the right of the head seat, the seat of the guest of honor. He also noticed the two figures already sitting, both trying hard not to assault the food. Maurice's heart skipped a beat, recognizing Aimee. It took him a few seconds to do so, but when he did he was amazed. She had a new dress on, an evening gown, and it was then he realized how beautiful she looked.

Shaking his head he took the seat next to her and Fernando sat next to him in his customary chair, "Eat my friends, eat. I'm delighted I could host you," Stefano and Aimee immediately threw themselves upon the food in front of them. Fernando looked shocked at the barbaric display, and Maurice chuckled, slowly cutting into his veal.

Aimee looked up at Maurice with a grin, which quickly disappeared. Maurice was smiling, lifting up his fork, "There's no need to rush it my dear, the food will not disappear," he stopped the fork just in front of his lips, "And you aren't expected to serve anyone."

She straightened up and began to imitate Maurice. She stumbled a bit, but she was learning. Maurice gave her a wink and an approving smile before turning to Fernando, "What do we owe you my friend?"

Fernando laughed again, "Nothing, just keep the memory of our Emperor alive. Oh, and I'll have my men supply you and I'll give you two guards."

Maurice shook his head, "That won't be necessary."

Fernando lifted his wine glass, "I insist…"


	6. Chapter VI

Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

At the end of the evening, Maurice bid everyone a good night and began to walk to the room he was to stay in that night. When he got to the base of the stairs he felt a hand grab at his, he turned to see Aimee, "Ahh, are you going to bed also mademoiselle?"

She replied with a short nod, "I'm sorry about dinner Maurice, I didn't mean to make you look bad," The look on her face was one of shame, she no doubt had waited all evening to get him alone to apologize.

He put a soft smile on his lips, "It's alright Aimee. This is all new to you. I expect you to stumble," He began to lead her up the stairs, "that is how we learn not to fall. And you look exquisite in that dress."

Immediately her demeanor changed, she put on a beaming smile, "Really? You like it. One of Fernando's servants just showed me a wardrobe and told me to pick a dress to wear to dinner. I wasn't sure if you'd like it, but I guess I chose correctly," It was a red satin dress, very beautiful and complimented her perfectly.

His smile grew, "That you did," He led her to the door of her room, "Now, get some sleep. We're leaving tomorrow and it's going to be a long ride. I'll get you a horse more suitable for the journey and one fit for a lady such as yourself," He watched her blush a little. She still was not used to being treated this way, "If there's anything else you need make sure to tell me or Fernando, okay?"

She gave a happy nod, stood on her tip-toes, and pecked him on the cheek before running into her room. He stood there for a moment; his cheeks tinged a little red, before walking to his own room

Opening the door he stepped into a lavish bedroom with a large bed. To the side was his saddle bag with riding clothes neatly folded next to them. Before falling into his bed he put the clothes in his bag.

Falling into the down bed, he smiled comfortably as he settled into sleep. He began dreaming he was in an exquisite garden of a Château in southern France. In light spring attire he moved through the gardens, smelling the aroma of the roses and violets when he heard a familiar giggle. Chasing the sound, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a red dress disappearing around the corner. Turning the corner, he saw her standing in the middle of the aisle, a teasing smile on her face. He took a step forward and she ran to her left. Sighing, he chased after her once again.

Turing the corner he was in luck to see that it opened into a circular courtyard with only one path in or out. He spotted her gleefully running around the base of a tree, "Come sit with me Maurice," Aimee shouted playfully, patting the grass next to her.

Not hesitating at all, he sat right next to her. He looked shyly at her, "There's something I want to say…but I don't know how to say it," In response, Aimee cocked her head to the side and gave him a questioning glance, "I love you Aimee."

She caressed his face, "I know Maurice, I…" they were interrupted by a loud knocking on the tree. Looking up, Maurice saw the brightness of the sun.

Shooting straight up, he glanced about nervously. Somebody was pounding feverishly at his door, "I'm coming," he grumbled, not happy with being removed from happiness. He trudged to the door, throwing it open to reveal a very frantic Fernando which caused Maurice to instantly become alert.

"Gendarmes are coming now. Twenty of them and they're heavily armed and riding in fast. You have about ten minutes to pack everything onto the horses. My servants are delaying them," Fernando rushed into the room, helping Maurice gather up his belongings. Maurice threw on his sword and pistols, regretting that his blunderbuss was on his horse. Once they gathered up the bags, they ran to the horses.

Once in the stables, Maurice asked the obvious question, "Why help me? They're after me. Why not turn me in and save your home, job, life?"

Surprisingly, Fernando smiled, "My friend, this means nothing. All of this, including my life, I'd be willing to trade for the return of our emperor. Now then, I want you to have this," A servant ran up to Fernando and handed him a rifle, which Fernando promptly handed to Maurice, "This is a Ferguson Rifle. A British weapon, but an effective one. It's fast to reload and plenty accurate."

There was a roll of musket fire outside the stables as Aimee and Stefano were rushed in. Fernando began to run towards the sounds of the guns. Maurice ran after him, "Let me help."

Fernando turned and flashed his perfect smile once more, "Don't worry about it my friend, they're Royalists, no match for us Bonapartists. You rescue our Emperor and when you do, extend an invitation to me to join him at his table. Good luck Sergeant Tabor."

"Good luck Lieutenant Covas," Maurice shouted. Both men knew that the invitation would never be extended. Both men knew that Fernando was going to die. They both knew he was going to die that night, and all Maurice could do was admire the man's courage to defend three people he only knew for a few hours with his life.

Mounting up, he noticed Gaston among the riders. The Butler spoke, "Lord Covas apologizes, but he is only able to spare me to help lead you out of his lands."

Maurice gained some of his spirit back, "That's all we'll need. Lead the way my friend," Gaston spurred his horse, followed by Stefano, then Aimee, and Maurice covered the rear. The night sky was made darker by the overcast above. Their hooves beat the ground, crunching leaves and sticks as they went. Stealth was of little concern to them so long as the guns kept firing.

The first indication they were about to be ambushed was the abrupt stillness of nature around them. Usually birds would flutter away, squirrels scurrying. Now though, there was nothing. Maurice shouted, "Everyone, STOP!!" and they complied, all except Gaston, who rode straight into the guns.

It was a single loud burst, six muskets going off at once. In horror they watched as the old servants body twisted and contorted with the impact of the volley on either side. Maurice was enraged. Picking up the Ferguson he aimed at one shadow and fired, receiving a satisfactory yip. Quickly loading another round, he fired at another shadow before leading the other two away from the fight.

Tucking the Ferguson away, he drew his blunderbuss and pushed his animal hard through the thick forest. _I must find a way out! _ Looking over his shoulder he was relieved to see his two companions following close behind.

The Blunderbuss barked, taking out a Gendarme running out of the woods. Holstering the empty sidearm he drew a long pistol and kept riding. He was disoriented, he didn't know where anything was so he just kept riding.

The rolling sound of musket fire was gone, replaced now by individual pops of fire. Maurice prayed once more before realizing that they were heading closer to the gunfire, not farther from it. Preparing to turn his horse, he saw Fernando ride towards them. Both sets of eyes locked and Maurice waved telling Fernando to follow.

There was a crack of a pistol shot, which caused everyone to stiffen. Maurice looked at his Spanish friend smile and mouth, "Napoleon!" The body slid off the horse and revealed the shooter, a Gendarme Captain who permeated pure evil.

He leveled his pistol, hand shaking with rage, and pulled the trigger missing completely. Holstering the pistol he drew his saber and began a mad, one soldier charge at the Captain who had drawn his own sword. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a cursed soldier rush him from the side so Maurice swung his blade low, slashing the man's throat.

A horrendous yell could be heard of the din of musket fire as Napoleon's Sergeant raised his saber high, fire in his eyes. The blood covered blade swung down hard and fast at the calm Gendarme Captain who just lifted his own blade to block it. The Captain seemed to shrug off the attack and mumbled, "Sergeant Tabor, you will die. I am Captain Gregory Chirac, the man who will kill you," and he drew back his saber to lunge at Maurice, but was interrupted by a musket round that shattered the blade. Gregory looked at Maurice, whose arm was being held by a petite woman, and gave him a customary dueling salute with his broken blade, "You live today Bonapartist, but I will kill you," with those words he rushed off into the night.

Aimee could feel Maurice's surging rage, "Come on Maurice, we need to leave. Fernando would not like you sacrificing yourself," She tugged at his arm.

Stefano rode up holding a freshly fired musket, "She is right my friend, we can do no more good. Fernando died happy and may God see his soul to heaven, but he died to let you live, don't waste it," the voice was harsh, scolding even.

Maurice slowly lowered his arm and turned the horse about, taking a final look at the man who saved them all, a true saint. A single tear fell upon the body, "I promise you Fernando, Captain Chirac will pay for this. I will fight for your memory. I shall tell Napoleon of your bravery," He saluted him and rode away, tears now flowing freely…


End file.
